Williams sighed, like he was about to relieve himself of a great burden.

‘There might be some truth to it,’ he said.

Darby tossed her fork inside the container, closed the lid and gave him her full attention.

‘The previous victims, the Connelly family,’ Williams said. ‘The state handled the crime scene like all the others. Only the photographer they had on call that night, a guy who has since been fired – he was doing a rather shoddy job, in my opinion. I think he might’ve been shitfaced – the guy reeked of booze. It was out of my control, but that didn’t mean I had to take a back seat and let him do a shit job either. So I decided to take my own pictures. Only I made a mistake.’

Then his face contorted in shame and embarrassment. ‘It was late and I was exhausted. Instead of heading back to the station and getting the digital camera, or going out and buying a disposable one, I used my cell phone.’ He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles looked like white moons. ‘Some of the pictures I took? They wound up on Crime & Punishment. It’s a website and –’

‘I know what it is,’ Darby said. ‘How does this connect back to Nelson?’

‘He was the first responding officer at the crime scene, and he saw me using my cell to take pictures. The following morning, I’d gone off to a budget meeting. I left my cell on my desk, maybe in my coat pocket. I can’t remember. But I knew I had it when I went into the office that morning.

‘When I came back from the meeting, I couldn’t find my phone. A couple of people said they saw Nelson in my office right after I’d left. He didn’t deny it – he’d gone in there to drop off a report – but he said he didn’t know anything about my cell. The pictures were on the website the next day. Guess who got caught holding the shit-end of the stick?’

‘You have any proof he took your phone?’ Darby asked.

‘Who else could it have been? He was the only one who knew I’d taken those pictures on my cell, and I sure as hell didn’t do it.’

‘Okay.’

‘IAD cleared me. I agreed to take a poly. Passed it with flying colours.’

Darby was surprised a station as small as Red Hill had their own Internal Affairs Department. ‘And Nelson?’

‘He refused.’ Williams smiled in sour triumph. ‘The reporter who posted the pictures wouldn’t give up his source, naturally, and when IAD couldn’t link the pictures back to either of us, the case hit a dead end. Nelson and I both got a five-day suspension without pay and a letter of reprimand in our jackets.’

Darby stared out the window, the hum of the car tyres against the road and the wind blasting through her window vibrating against her ears. The sky was blue and cloudless, the air comfortably cool, like early autumn; it was hard to believe that a major snowstorm would roll in later today. She wondered what progress Hoder was making on their plan.

‘I’m telling you the truth,’ Williams said.

Darby heard a lot of heat in his voice. She rolled her head to him and saw his anger rising and falling, searching for an appropriate target.

‘I believe you,’ she said.

‘Really? ’Cause your expression says otherwise.’

‘If you’re looking for absolution for something, Ray, I’m not wearing the right collar.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Find someone else to be your whipping post.’

Williams’s face burned, the skin as thin as paper, as if he’d been slapped. Then he sighed deeply, and the heat left his face and eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to take this out on you. When the subject of Teddy comes up, when he comes around here … Red Hill’s too small to have its own IAD, so any conduct and personnel problems get kicked to Brewster. Teddy personally spearheaded my investigation. He acted like a kid who had just got his favourite toy for Christmas. When I passed the poly, the son of a bitch wouldn’t let it go. He got off on ramming a two-by-four up my ass on a daily basis. The guy missed his calling as a plantation overseer.’

‘Forget Lancaster,’ Darby said. ‘Don’t let him bait you, he’s not worth it.’

Little did she know she was about to eat her own words.

38

The Brewster County Coroner’s Office serviced Red Hill and three other surrounding towns. Built during the Hoover administration, the old building contained a single autopsy suite that was nearly identical to just about every one Darby had visited over the course of her career: brick-red tile floors and grim white-painted walls; damp rubber mats arranged around an elevated steel surgical table, stainless-steel everywhere.

At 400 square feet, the autopsy room felt too small to accommodate her, Ray Williams and the coroner, Dr Felicia Gonzalez, a tiny woman with black hair and small, almost childlike fingers. She was slipping into a pair of fresh scrubs when they entered.

‘Where should I set up?’ Darby asked after the introductions were over.

Gonzalez opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She eyed Darby’s rolling forensics kit, then looked at Williams like he was a Martian who had suddenly materialized out of thin air.

‘We’re here for the Downes autopsies,’ he said.

‘We did those first thing this morning,’ Gonzalez replied.

Darby felt the air rush out of her lungs. The room went out of focus for a moment and the only sounds she heard were the insect-like hum of the fluorescent tube lights and water dripping from a nearby faucet.

‘Harry came to see me personally,’ Gonzalez said, perplexed. ‘He moved the whole schedule around for you, Ray.’

‘For me?’ Williams blinked like a bright light had suddenly and without warning exploded in his face.

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

Williams spoke slowly, as if each word were a red-hot coal he had to pick up with his bare hands. ‘If he had told me, Felicia, do you think I’d be standing here right now with my dick in my hand?’

The woman stiffened at the word ‘dick’, hit with a sudden prudish streak. ‘You don’t have to use that type of lang–’

‘Who collected the evidence?’

‘Who do you think? Brewster forensics, the same people who did the other victims.’

Williams scratched the corner of his eye, his face crimson. He kept swallowing, his jaw muscles bunching like walnuts.

Gonzalez waved her hands in defiant surrender. ‘Don’t take this out on me, Ray. You have an issue with Harry, take it up with him.’

‘I plan on it.’

Then Williams pushed open the swinging door and bolted into the hallway.

Darby stared at the autopsy table and thought about the nameless and faceless forensics people from Brewster who had collected the victims’ clothing and examined their bodies prior to the autopsy. She had no idea of their collective experience, or their level of commitment, or the type of equipment and chemicals they had used. And she had been denied the chance to look over everything herself; all she could think about was the possibility of some missed or overlooked piece of evidence, some key piece that had been washed down the drain at the base of the stainless-steel table.

Gonzalez got busy, dressing. When she spoke, her voice suddenly seemed loud in the cold room. ‘I thought he’d been told. Ray.’

‘Who’s Harry?’

‘The chief medical examiner, Harry Stein. The man responsible for this lovely establishment.’ Then: ‘I’m sorry your time was wasted.’

A rumbling, grinding sound filled the room. Then it stopped and the door to an outdated freight elevator opened, revealing a morgue attendant and a rolling cart with a body bag on top. They were barely able to fit inside the tight space.

‘Where are the bodies now?’ Darby asked.

‘Dunnigan & Sweet Funeral Home in Red Hill,’ Gonzalez replied.

‘I’d like to read your report and see the pictures.’

‘I’ll let Ray know when I’ve finished my report.’

‘And when do you think that might be?’